


Numberless forms, numberless times

by Procrastinating_Dragonfly



Series: Contraintes Challenge 2k19-2k20 [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Boys Will Be Boys, Games, Gen, Jongho POV, Reincarnation, They play games and brawl a lot, Writing Exercise, meaning boys will be stupid but also love each other, the aus are just for atmosphere and hinted at they don't influence the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Procrastinating_Dragonfly/pseuds/Procrastinating_Dragonfly
Summary: They've met before, and, through some twist of fate, loved each other.-Short snippets into the lives of eight friends, through childish games, across time.
Series: Contraintes Challenge 2k19-2k20 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1446778
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Numberless forms, numberless times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darksideofthesan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksideofthesan/gifts).



> A fair warning: this was written as a writing experiment. The specific challenge here was to write a story entirely set in the dark.  
> Title by Rabindranath Tagore; this is your poet plug-in of the day.  
> I probably should've reserved a better piece as my debut into the Atiny writer community but oh, well-

_ October 14, 1637, Yellow Sea _

-

The sea is great. The sea is merciless. It is their house, and it will one day be their demise. 

That day, if Jongho has anything to say about it, will not come anytime soon. He clutches the nearest crate, coughing up the water in his lungs, drenched in salt and fatigue. Wood creaks from above as Hongjoong closes the hold’s latch behind himself, sealing them in total darkness. 

“Fuck you, too!” Jongho screams out to the Sea, dripping salt and wet, because screaming’s all he can do. 

“But we were gonna play games!” San’s voice whines from somewhere behind him. “I had my cards out and all, this is just unfair.”

“You know it was going to end up in a brawl anyway,” Yeosang sighs, voice raspy from seawater. Jongho winces, remembering the hit the elder had taken, slipping on his way down from the crow’s nest. “Just deck Mingi in the face, get Jongho to knock you the fuck out, and let’s all go to sleep.”

Jongho tries to hold in the snicker, but can’t feel sorry at all when he doesn’t quite succeed, not even when someone - presumably San - punches him in the shoulder. Maybe he did deserve that. Maybe. 

He throws a punch in the dark, trying to pinpoint San’s shoulder as best as possible. Whatever his fist makes contact with is far too flat and soft to be a shoulder, but he technically broke no rules, since he felt San’s belt very fucking clearly dig on his fist, and he definitely striked above. 

“Motherfucker! That was me!” Seonghwa groans, hands feeling their way against Jongho’s arm before he slaps it in retaliation.

From the other side of the room, Wooyoung shouts “Oh, yes! It’s on!”, followed by a deaf  _ thunk _ , and someone - Yunho? - screeching. 

Jongho hears the whistle of air from behind, but pain explodes between his shoulders before he can react, dull and poorly aimed, still enough to send him to the ground, since he didn’t see it coming to begin with. On the ground, he kicks at the culprit, trying to knock him over. He hits nothing but air. 

“Fuck you! Whoever you are!” 

“Fuck your  _ mother,  _ Choi Jongho!” Mingi rebuts; Jongho uses the chance to pinpoint his average location and throw a punch. 

He misses, but the dark hides his shame and defeat. 

“Song Mingi has developed interest in women?” San’s voice giggles from the other side of the storage room, and before Jongho can even roll his eyes, Mingi shoots back.

“I’ve seen your dad. He’s ugly.” 

“Pot. Kettle- ow,” Yunho whines. “Hey, that all you can do?”

_ Thud. _

“Ouch,” Jongho snickers. 

“That wasn’t me, though?” Mingi says.

“Not me either,” Yunho adds.

“I’ll punch the  _ sea, _ ” Wooyoung growls from behind Jongho. It takes a second for them to process it, but soon the cramped, damp room is filled with roaring laughter. 

“You slipped on water?” Hongjoong laughs “ _ Ow.” _

“That’s it! Back to the game!” San cheers, and  _ something _ that’s not a fist but still hurts a whole motherfucking lot hits the side of Jongho’s face. 

“Choi San, I’ll pillage your  _ mother _ ,” he screamed, throwing a blind punched that hits the air.

“Leave my mom alone!”

“Leave San’s mom alone, Kang Yeosang!” Wooyoung screeches, in what Wooyoung probably considers a laugh.    


“I’m- I’m  _ Jongho,  _ asshole!” He grabs and throws the nearest container, hissing in regret as he hears glass shatter against a wall and liquid splash. 

A mess. It’s a mess. If they survive this night, and Jongho doesn’t slowly drown in a sinking ship because of the storm, he’ll be very glad in the morning; but even if the storm does come to them and he dies, he’ll at least go down having fun. 

And go down he does, when something big and heavy collides with him. They roll on the damp floor, clothes collecting more disgusting bits of dirt, breath knocked out of Jongho’s lungs as they tangle and bruise their limbs. 

“Ouch,” the body above his speaks, and Jongho whines as he pushes Hongjoong off effortlessly. 

“Everything fine, captain?” Wooyoung asks tentatively from somewhere Jongho can’t pinpoint. 

“Is it back on?” San shouts at the same time, unnecessarily loud in the cramped room. 

“Time out, kids, time out,” Seonghwa calls, suddenly by their side. Jongho sits up with a huff, wincing when the freezing water that’d collected on the ground seeps into his clothes. Something bangs against something else, and voices that could be Wooyoung and Yeosang, but could just as easily be San, or Mingi, whine. He has no idea what happened, or why. He's too tired to care. 

“So… we just wait the storm out?” Yeosang asks, making Jongho jump because he’s right behind him.

A beat of silence falls on the room, interrupted only by the ongoing crashing of waves and thunder. 

“Round three?” Jongho asks, tentatively. Sharp pain bursts in his shoulder before he can even finish the sentence. 

“Round three!” his assaulter shouts.

“Jung Yunho, you  _ traitor!” _

* * *

_ January 13, 1947 - Busan, Korea _

-

The moment the lights flicker, Jongho knows the elevator will stop. 

There are few things Jongho despises as much as elevators. Maybe the Japanese, and the boss’ second in command. Elevators are the inanimate thing he hates the most, cramped boxes that rely entirely on faulty mechanisms and can get people trapped for hours with no air, food, water, or a bathroom, and apparently, no light as well, which works out very well considering there are eight boys in an elevator meant for five at best. 

“Boss will kill us,” San whines, immediately, and Jongho kind of hates him. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t have to say it. 

“Boss won’t kill us,” Seonghwa tries to reassure them. It’s not very effective when it’s just a disembodied voice floating somewhere towards 5 o’clock, and they can all hear the hesitation loud as an aircraft. “We have Hongjoong.” 

San, in response, just laughs. His voice is trembling. Jongho kind of understands. “You’re right! Sorry. He’ll kill the rest of us.”

“Choi San!”

“What. I’m right.” 

No one answers the murmur. They all stand in silence, waiting in the dark for anything to move.

Jongho hates elevators. Everything is silent, and awkward, and smells of rotting-

“Corners!” 

Jongho’s body reacts before his mind, thank fuck. With a loud  _ thud _ , he slams chest-first into a corner of the elevator. The dull ache in his already-bruised ribs punishes him for his stupidity, but Choi Jongho is not a fucking loser. 

“Offer up, kids,” Seonghwa calls from his left, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. Jongho doesn’t bother to wait for anyone to actually approach him, just swings at whoever he has in front, hand catching on what feels like Mingi’s fake leather jacket. The familiar sounds of other punches and groans immediately follow suit, and Jongho snickers in satisfaction. 

“Be thankful we’re dying at higher hands today, or I’d have ended your legacy myself,” Yeosang snarls at no one in particular from his right.

“He can’t kill us if we die in this thing,” Jongho supplies. 

“ _Choi Jongho!”_ Seonghwa screams, indignated. “You didn’t die in the war, you’re not going to die in an elevator.” 

Someone scoffs. “He didn’t die when he got decked in the face with that crowbar, either. Maybe he’s immortal.” 

“One way to find out!” San’s voice cheerfully calls, and something collides, making the whole elevator tremble with impact. 

“Fuckers-” 

“ _ San!”  _

“That was  _ me!  _ Yunho! What have I  _ done!” _

“Have it your way,” Wooyoung spits, and it’s all the warning they get before a hand grabs Jongho’s collar and pulls him towards the center. “Corners!” 

Thuds to go off on all sides of the tiny elevator, accompanied by groans of protest and pain. Jongho joins the latter because whoever the fuck punched his arm - and that was Wooyoung, fuck his dolphin laughter - punched  _ hard _ . 

_ “Corners!” _ he shouts, pushing right into the wall junction, hard enough to bruise against the wood and moldy linoleum. He throws his fist out, uncaring about his target, and laughs when someone - Yeosang? - yelps in protest.

“Which one of you bastards punched me twice!” San shrieks, followed by a quick “Corners!”. Jongho shoots for the same spot. He hits someone full-on, probably breaks his nose or something because  _ ouch. _ He ignores the blooming pain, and groans in protest at whoever kicked his thigh, then kicks back in retaliation because rules are for law-abiding citizens. 

“Corners!” 

“Mingi you son of a-!” 

Jongho’s mind blanks, lost in the action, reaction, the pain, the strain of his muscles; the sweat in the air, bones knocking over each other, entangled limbs. Everything, when they fight like this, is reduced groans and chuckles, insults to make all their sisters blush, and shoes someone throws at Seonghwa’s head. 

“Corners!” Seonghwa commands, again, after chucking the offending items back to hit someone. Jongho throws himself headfirst into the nearest wall, but something tackles him to the ground. They tumble to the ground, arms and legs entangled and bruising. When he breathes in again, his face is squished against the itchy wool of someone's vest. 

Time freezes. 

He’s been there before, he realizes in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. He’s been in this place, in this position, in this situation. Stuck with  _ them,  _ and his heart has never been so full of love and belonging - except it has always been, before they met, before Jongho even learned how to speak. He’s never felt so at home as in this rusty, shitty elevator.

But he  _ has _ . 

Somewhere. 

Then, little insects crawl up his sides, and the shrieked laughter and pleads for whoever the fuck is tickling him to  _ stop _ whisk the feeling away like a distant dream. 

“Tickle fight!” Hongjoong announces from above him, and all, again, becomes action, laughter, bruises, and shouting. Jongho feels like he could live forever. 

When the elevator’s engine whirs back to life, eight boys lie, spent, on old carpeted flooring that smells of stale piss and fresh sweat and blood. If they are cuddling, in mutual understanding - well, that’s something no one outside of any elevator will ever have to know. 

* * *

_ July 13, 2019 - Seoul, South Korea _

_ - _

_ 3%. _

He has 3% battery.  _ Spectacular. _ In the middle of a blackout, with his cellphone about to die, sitting on the floor because the couch - in all fairness, not  _ his _ couch - is taken up by Mingi-San-and-someone. Mingi and San are talking the most.

“I’m bored,” he announces, shutting down the phone with a sigh. It’s a goner, anyway. 

“Go back to your apartment, then,” Hongjoong suggests. Jongho doesn’t need power to know his voice is dripping with sarcasm. 

“Sure. Wooyoung-hyung, let’s go.” 

“Sure thing. I’ll send you all a message from the E.R. when we fall down the stairs and split our head open.”

“You’ll have the prettiest, 100% sincere get-well-soon card,” San laughs. "We could play something, though," he adds, barely a second later. 

"What?”

“Blind man’s bluff?” Yunho suggests. 

A unanimous groan spreads through the room. 

“Seriously?” 

“We’re not five!” 

“I’m in.” 

“San what the fuck-”

“Me too!” 

“Yeo- okay fine we’re playing I guess. Stop poking me. Who is poking me. Song Mingi I know that’s you.” 

“Know again, dumbass.”

“I changed my mind,” Wooyoung sighs. “Blind man’s bluff is appropriate to this group’s mental age.”

No force on earth can convince Jongho to play a children’s game in the middle of a blackout. Thankfully, San is most likely an alien, so everything is fine and his competition spirit is high. 

“Jongho, no violence,” San declares amidst the knocking sounds of someone trying to find equipment.

“Hey, let’s penalize San and Mingi, they’re too tall!” 

“What about Yunho?”

“Shit, he’s here?” 

“I  _ live _ here!”

It takes five - five, but in number, Jongho thinks, instinctively moving his fingers to form a parenthesis - minutes of bickering; bickering he might have taken part into because it helps young boys grow strong or something. 

Five minutes later, everyone else is spread out in the room (probably; that was the intention at least), while Jongho finds himself carefully holding a broom, blindfolded, because of course Wooyoung insisted that one must be blindfolded to play blind man’s bluff. Even if they were forced into blindness to begin with. 

Taking a careful step forward, he whacks the broom around the air, hitting something that feels suspiciously like a couch. Or someone's back, but no one complains. 

"I'm starting to think getting Jongho to beat up people he can't see was a bad idea," Yeosang comments, which is dumb, because Jongho can now turn to 3 o'clock and run straight ahead with the broom in front of him. 

_ Thud.  _

The broom handle hits something,  _ hard _ , and it sent Jongho flying backwards onto the ground. Motherfuckers. 

"Did he fall?" someone stage-whispers from above him. Wait a minute-

Jongho grabs the handle of the broom again, whacking above his head with all his strength without moving the rest of his body. There’s a satisfying sensation of hitting flesh and an even more satisfying yelp of pain. 

"Kang Yeosang is it." 

"I'm San!" the body by his side yells in indignation and yeah, that’s San. San who gets the blindfold because Jongho is done. 

The game carries on fairly smoothly, for being played in such unlikely conditions. Jongho ends up with someone’s foot in his mouth at one point, because some hiding places aren’t meant to be shared, and at least twice he hears Yunho whine about being picked again. It’s when Seonghwa takes the blindfold for the first time - if the blindfold is even in play, anymore - that all goes to shit. 

“Hyung, it’s a free for all, pass it on,” Mingi whispers in his ear. 

“Sure,  _ dongsaeng _ ,” Jongho deadpans, not moving from his position. He’s managed to crawl under the coffee table backwards, and his legs are someplace between hanging in the diaper changing position and almost disappearing in the space under the couch.  “Oh, it’s you. Pass it on, anyway.” Jongho ignores the disappointment in Mingi’s voice, but he resolves to ignore Mingi, too, because he’s not gonna move from where he is to talk to anyone. He literally can’t. 

“Get it! Free for all!” 

Oh, fuck Wooyoung.

Jongho pushes the table off of himself, wincing at the terrible crash it makes and vaguely remembering he might’ve had left his coffee on there, then runs in the first direction his legs carry him towards. He crashes into someone, but he’s stronger, so the someone flies away and Jongho ends up hearing what sounds a lot like someone’s head crashing onto a wall. 

“Shit. Hyung?"

The man in front of him crashes into him this time, but past the initial instinct of punching him in the stomach (which Jongho attempts, but fails to do), he collects him in his arms delicately. 

"Jongho?"

"H-Hongjoong-hyung?" 

"Fuck you," Hongjoong laughs, and Jongho laughs, too, along with everyone else. The tension that had created itself when the deaf thud on the wall resonated through the small place dissipates with everyone's amusement and shouts of a continuing fight.

He's been here before. 

The realization hits him like a punch, strong enough to knock the breath out of him as Hongjoong frees himself from his grasp. He's met these people before, a long,  _ long _ time before now. He's met them, and he's, through some twist of fate, loved them. 

Now too, through the sounds of playful fighting, he knows - they're his family. More so than his actual blood. They're destined to come together again, even if Jongho dies, even if any one of them is lost. 

Impressions fill his mind. Of fields, ocean, palaces, bombs, sad and happy and too strong to handle. Throughout it all, the only thing he knows is that he will meet them aga-

"Jongho, are you okay?" 

Jongho blinks in the realization that he’s still there, in a limited, physical world where reincarnation doesn’t actually exist. He’s lying on cool wooden flooring, Hongjoong’s hands tentatively feeling his face. 

"Yeah. I'm just tired, I guess," he lies, pushing himself up. The others seem to accept it well enough, with copious amounts of teasing for his weakness and low stamina (including Wooyoung's smug little "You satisfy your partners like that, kid?", which Jongho never, ever, wants to hear again ever in his life), but the game is over. 

"The lights aren't back on, huh?" Seonghwa sighs after a short while, silently ordering the others to stop teasing. Not that Jongho minds. He is friends with assholes, after all. 

"You guys can stay over, I guess," Yunho says. "You'd deserve it but you really shouldn't break your neck on the stairs, it's impolite towards everyone else who will use them, just saying."

“I will have my revenge, one day. I’ll be the vengeful ghost who comes back for you and sends you exclusively bad right-wing memes from an unknown spam number. You will regret ever insulting me.”

“...Wooyoung, just find your way to the spare bed and fuck yourself or whatever you need to do.”    


Jongho chuckles in unison with indignated sputter. 

Oh, yeah. He loves these people. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Corners game is quite simple, but I never explained it. The basic rule is that when you're in an elevator, when someone shouts "Corners!", everyone tries to hit one, and those who can't get punched. As a fun history tidbit, gangster activity in Korea around that era, while still illegal, mostly involved a lot of protection of political figures. This is not inherent to the story. This is just the history corner.
> 
> Honestly, this is definitely not one of my best pieces, but ah, well, not all experiments are meant to succeed. As usual, remember that your writers thrive on kudos and comments, so toss a comment to your writer, positive or constructive. If anyone wants to talk fics or Ateez or anything at all, you can find me on Twitter and CC @lazylibellula and on Tumblr @procrastinatingdragonfly (sideblog @pirate-wonderland)!


End file.
